


Three Feathers

by embroiderama



Series: Redwing AU [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Chance Meetings, Dancing, M/M, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In three separate scenes, Neal leaves an old relationship, meets an old acquaintance and makes some new memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts), [Sheenianni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheenianni/gifts), [anodyneer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/gifts).



> These were written for [](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/profile)[**elrhiarhodan**](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/), [](http://sheenianni.livejournal.com/profile)[**sheenianni**](http://sheenianni.livejournal.com/) and [](http://anodyneer.livejournal.com/profile)[**anodyneer**](http://anodyneer.livejournal.com/) for [](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/)**fandom_stocking**. They're all timestamps to my Redwing 'verse.

**I. (Approximately two years before the first story - Neal/Adler)**

"Vincent," Neal said, hating the heavy sound of emotion in his voice. He wouldn't beg, he wasn't going to beg, but a desperate part of him wanted to flay himself open for any chance of staying. He swallowed and took a breath to steady his voice then allowed himself to ask, " _Why_?"

"Oh, Neal." Vincent shook his head and put his hand on Neal's face, cupped around the angle of his jaw. "You didn't really believe this was love, did you? This arrangement has worked well for both of us, but now its time has ended."

Neal felt sick but he had to admit to himself that he didn't love Vincent. He couldn't, he never could, but he had imagined he did--just as, apparently, he'd imagined that Vincent Adler had a soul. "Fine," Neal said, stepping back from Vincent's touch. "I just--I have to find somewhere to stay."

"Of course," Vincent said with a bland kind of reasonableness that made Neal want to scream. "Until then I'll put you up in a hotel room, wherever you want, and I'll have your things sent to your new place. Whatever you don't want to take today, of course."

Neal's thoughts were running ahead to the tasks of checking craigslist and seeing who of his acquaintances might know of a decent apartment coming available when Vincent's words sunk in. "You mean you want me to leave now?"

"I find that it's best not to let these things draw themselves out." Vincent looked calm but implacable, and Neal understood in that moment that Vincent had done this enough times to have a _procedure_ in place.

"Fine, I'll--" Neal heard his voice shake and he firmed up his jaw. "Just let me pack some things, and I'll be out of your way." Neal stalked back to the bedroom and got his suitcase from the back of the closet then began to fill it with clothes. He was trying to focus on what he would need for the next few days when Vincent walked up behind him, too close.

"Tell me which hotel you'd like to go to, and I'll call to have them charge the room to my card."

"No." Neal slipped away from Vincent to get what he needed from the bathroom. "I don't need your money."

"Don't you?"

Neal didn't respond, just continued packing, but the fact was that though he had a bit of money in the bank he didn't make enough to support himself, at least not the way he wanted to live. He could, that wasn't much of a question, but that would require sacrifices he didn't want to have to make--his art, his work helping Ellen. Nonetheless, he wasn't going to be Vincent's whore kept in a hotel room. "No," Neal said, "I don't."

Neal zipped up the suitcase and put it down on the floor before pulling out the handle. He held his chin up as he looked Vincent in the eye. "I'll contact you when I'm ready to pick up the rest of my things."

"That will be fine," Vincent said with a condescending gentleness. "But Neal?"

"What?"

Vincent raised one eyebrow. "My key?"

Neal started to laugh but bit it back when it sounded too close to a sob. "Right, of course." He fished his keyring out of his pocket, pulled off the key to Vincent's condo, and tossed it on the bed. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was nothing worth saying. He shook his head and walked past Vincent out of the bedroom and then out into the hallway. He blinked away the tears that wanted to pool in his eyes, and he held his head high as he walked past the doorman and hailed a cab.

He wanted nothing more than to have the cab take him to Ellen's apartment, and he knew she would let Neal come in and stay until he could find something else, but he couldn't let himself do it. He was a man, nearly thirty years old, not the eighteen year-old boy who had all but collapsed in her office. He had thought that he'd come a long way since that time but here he was once again with nowhere to go and his things haphazardly stuffed into a bag.

 _Homeless_ , he thought. He had some money, some nice clothes and an education, but none of that stopped him from being homeless. Again. Neal's heart raced, his mouth went dry, and he felt himself start to slip into panic but he closed his eyes and forced himself to take slow steady breaths until his heart slowed down closer to normal. He had the cab driver take him to the nearest hotel that wasn't exorbitantly expensive; it was still too much but Neal could afford one night. He checked in but as soon as he got into the room he knew he needed to leave.

The room was fine. It was tastefully decorated but somehow still empty and cold, and Neal felt a chill go through him when he realized that it didn't feel that different from Vincent's condo. Five years he spent with Vincent. He'd had safety and companionship, sex and a kind of mutual respect, and he let himself believe that was love. _Damn it._ Neal set his bag down on the bed, stuck the room key in his pocket and headed back out. He was hours away from being able to sleep, and there was no way he could spend those hours in that bland, blank room without losing it.

He didn't know where he was going, but the cool evening air felt good against his face as he made his way briskly down the block toward a coffee shop.

~~~

Peter took his coffee from the barista then sat down at a small table that gave him a good vantage point to see the rest of the coffee shop. This was supposed to be a date, a very casual first date with a man El had introduced him to, but he was in no mood to try to charm anybody. Work had been worse than usual, a series of grim cases with unhappy endings, and the thought of trying to make nice with some stranger made Peter feel vaguely sick. Still, the idea that he could have somebody to come home to, somebody to help these bad days end better, made him want to keep trying even when dating seemed entirely futile.

He was keeping an eye out for his date, but Peter was watching the rest of the crowd, too. He tried to not be a cop in his off-hours but he couldn't help observing and making guesses about what was going on with the various people around him. He thought there was probably a drug deal going on at a table in the corner, but he didn't work narcotics and he wasn't interested in disrupting everybody's evening over a baggie of pills or pot. He saw other couples on dates, friends talking, loners bent over their laptops, and then a man walked in who drew his attention more than anybody else.

The guy was handsome but his face was drawn in a way that spoke of deep sadness, emotional turmoil. Peter watched as the man took his drink and sat down hunched over it like he didn't want anybody to see him. This was a man who should want to be seen, a man who wasn't likely to be alone in the world, but he looked like the loneliest person in the room, and in the middle of a Manhattan coffee shop that was saying something. Peter shifted in his seat as he thought about going over to talk to the man.

He knew he couldn't approach the man like a cop, and hitting on him romantically seemed just as bad of an idea, but something in him ached to reach out. Peter's date was late, and he thought, _What the hell_. The stranger wasn't likely to do worse than tell Peter to go fuck off, and that was a risk Peter was willing to take. He knew that whatever he said would be awkward, but sometimes awkwardness was the thing that worked. He took a deep breath and stood up, then froze in place as he saw his date walking through the door and waving at him.

Peter sat down and waited for his date to get his own coffee and come sit down. The conversation went well enough that his date suggested finding somewhere to eat dinner together, and Peter agreed. On his way out the door, Peter looked back at where the sad, handsome man was still sitting slumped over his coffee. With a vague sense of regret and a hope that the man would be all right, Peter turned and walked away.

**II. (Somewhere in the middle of the 'verse timeline - Neal & Mozzie)**

Neal liked to think of himself as a relatively calm person, with the exception of the times when his anxieties took over. He prided himself on being able to keep a cool head when teenagers were testing his patience to see if he'd lash out or when he was being pulled in six different directions by his various responsibilities and commitments. The one thing that made him angry more quickly than anything was the threat of anyone harming any of the kids at Ellen's Place. Neal had driven off drug dealers and, when necessary, reported abusive parents to social services. He had broken up abusive relationships and gotten help for kids who were causing themselves harm in a variety of ways. The mission of Ellen's Place was to give kids an environment in which to create art, but before that could happen the kids needed to be safe and that was part of Neal's mission, too.

As Neal approached the front door of Ellen's Place, he saw two of the middle school age kids who took part in the programs on the first floor standing outside with a man who looked unfamiliar, and yet there was something about the man that made Neal uneasy. Both of the kids he was standing with lived in the same group foster home, and he'd seen them meet somebody from their home out front before, but Neal wasn't at all sure that this guy had any business being there. Neal crossed the street and slowed down so that he could get a better look without drawing too much attention, and he saw that the man was bald, fairly short and wore glasses. He looked unassuming enough, but that was a facade that could hide the most dangerous intentions.

Something told Neal that he knew the man, or had known him once, but he couldn't place the memory. Neal circled around and tried to remember. The memory felt old, so he imagined the man younger, with hair, and anger surged through him as the memory surfaced. He broke into a jog as he hurried back to where the man was still talking to the kids, and when he was close enough he shouted. "Hey! Hey, get out of here!"

The kids and the man both looked around, and Neal pointed to the man. "I'm talking to _you_!" The kids looked up at Neal with an edge of fear in their eyes. Neal swallowed the bitterness of having that fearful look turned on him, and forced himself to gentle his voice. "Hey, will you guys go back inside for a minute?"

One of the boys hesitated, looking between Neal and the bald guy. "But how're we supposed to get home if Mr. Mozzie leaves?"

"Home--I--" Neal looked at the bald guy, who was looking back at him like Neal had lost his mind. "I promise you'll get home. I just need to speak with Mr., uh, Mozzie alone."

The boy looked uncertain, but finally he nodded and went in through the heavy front doors.

"What's your deal, man?" The bald guy sounded genuinely affronted, but Neal knew-- _knew_ \--that this situation couldn't be right.

"I want to know what your deal is, what your scheme is this year. You're getting them younger now, huh? Whatever you're doing, it's going to stop."

The man put his hands up as if in surrender. "I think you have me confused with somebody else. Speaking of which, I have no idea whatsoever who _you_ are."

"I run this place, and I don't let these kids get hurt."

"So you're 'Ellen' then?"

Neal took a couple of deep, seething breaths to keep from doing something he'd regret. "No, my name is Neal Caffrey, and when I was a vulnerable kid in this city you tried to recruit me into some con artist game, and I can only imagine where it would've gone from there."

The man's eyes went wide. "Whoa. That was another lifetime, man."

"So you don't deny it?"

"I don't know that I remember you, but I ran some hide the lady games in park back in the 90s. That's about as far as it went, so if you think it was a front for something worse you're way off base. But like I said, that was another lifetime. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Neal took a step back and put his hands on his hips, trying to calm down. "What do you mean 'another lifetime?'"

"Look, probably not too long after we met back then, I tried for a big catch, got in over my head, did fourteen months in prison. And that was not for me, man. Not at all. I got out, went back to Detroit, worked for the man who ran the foster home I grew up in."

"Okay." Looking at the man and seeing the vulnerable child he'd once been himself deflated Neal's anger. "So, what are you doing back in New York?"

"Well, I loved the city even though I didn't do so well here the first time around, and I decided to try again. Mr. Jeffries helped me get a job at a home here, and I was waiting with Tyler and Darrell while Ricky finished up his project inside."

Neal nodded. "I'm sorry for flying off the handle like that. Mr., uh, Mozzie?"

He shrugged. "Most people call me Mozzie, and the kids put a Mr. on there for the aura of respectability. If you must know, the name given to me by the great state of Michigan was Theodore Winters."

"Huh." Mozzie didn't look like a Theodore or a Theo or a Ted, so Neal didn't blame the guy for sticking with a nickname. "Well, it's good to meet you Mozzie." Neal held out his hand.

Mozzie hesitated before reaching out to take Neal's hand and shake it. "You won't hold it against me, my past?"

"No, I respect a man who's trying--and apparently succeeding--to do things better the second time around. I apologize for jumping to conclusions, but I'm not sorry for trying to protect these kids from being exploited."

"I get it, man. There are some bad people out there, a lot worse than I ever was." Mozzie looked around Neal toward the front doors. "I should go see if the boys are ready to go."

"I'll go with you."

Inside, Neal apologized to the boys for scaring them and explained that he'd mistaken Mr. Mozzie for somebody else, an entirely different man. As far as Neal could tell, that was the truth.

**III. (Some weeks after Peter's injury in the last fic - Neal/Peter)**

Neal leaned into Peter's shoulder on his uninjured side and waited for Peter to look over at him. "Hey, let me know when you're ready to leave, okay? I don't want to be there all evening if you're hurting."

Peter gave him a wry smile and shook his head. "We're not even there yet so I don't think we need to worry about leaving yet."

The cab was still several blocks away from the hotel where the reception was being held, but Neal couldn't help worrying. Peter was still in physical therapy for his injuries, still healing, and the last thing Neal wanted was for Peter to end up in pain and exhausted just so that Neal could have a handsome date on his arm. Before the shooting, Neal had been looking forward to his friend Alex's wedding reception--he hadn't seen her in a few years, and she had apparently done very well for herself because her reception was a black tie event at one of Manhattan's most expensive hotels. The wedding itself had been held somewhere far away from the frosty grime of New York in late winter.

When they finally arrived and exited the cab for the hotel's lobby, Neal couldn't help being glad that Peter had nixed his plan to cancel their RSVP because Peter looked _great_. He was thinner than he had been before the shooting, but he was recovering well, his color was good, and they'd had enough time to get the tux tailored to accentuate the still-broad width of Peter's shoulders. The waistcoat under the jacket fit him perfectly as well, and Neal couldn't stop himself from grabbing Peter's lapels and tugging him close for a quick kiss.

"Mmm, what was that for?" Peter asked, looking pleased.

"Because if I did what I really wanted right now, we'd get kicked out of the hotel."

"Can't have that." Peter leaned in for another, softer kiss, and then they followed the signs pointing them to the correct ballroom.

Alex had elected to avoid most of the usual wedding traditions while still throwing a ridiculously expensive party. When the dancing started, Neal turned to go find a seat, but Peter caught his arm.

"Do you want to head home?" Neal looked at Peter, and he appeared to be fine but Neal had learned over the past month that Peter could hide his pain behind a stoic exterior when he thought there was a good reason to do so.

"No, I want you to dance with me."

"Oh." Neal looked around the room, and the couples who had begun to dance were varied. The song was something slow from the 80s, and Peter was looking at him with a warm, steady kind of desire in his eyes. "I'd love that."

Neal expected Peter to be unsure on the dance floor, but he took the lead like a man who knew what he was doing. They had to shift from the usual arm positions in order to avoid stressing Peter's injured arm but after a moment they were in each other's arms, comfortable and secure, moving on the dance floor as if they'd danced together a dozen times before.

"You really know what you're doing here."

Peter rolled his eyes, mock-offended. "You don't have to sound so surprised. Okay, El coerced me into taking a ballroom dancing class with her a few years ago. I liked it more than I thought I would."

"Ellen taught me. I really wasn't a natural but she got me there eventually." Thinking of Ellen brought the sting of grief along with the good memories, and Peter didn't say anything but he held Neal just a little bit closer and stroked his thumb in a soothing arc over the middle of Neal's back until the sting faded back into the background. And the foreground, the present, was all about Peter being alive and warm and strong and in his arms.

Neal looked up into Peter's eyes as they moved together until Peter said, "What?"

"I'm just glad you're here."

Peter nodded. "It's never fun to be dateless at a wedding."

"That's not--" Neal sighed and reached up to put his hand on the side of Peter's face. "I'm glad that _you_ are--" Neal swallowed hard and tried to make his point with his eyes. " _Here_."

"Oh." Peter's voice was rough, and he looked down for a moment. They had stopped dancing, but Neal didn't care. Finally Peter reached up and took Neal's hand in his, and they started moving together again. "Me too. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Neal wasn't sure when the song had ended. He was sure that he didn't care.


End file.
